She Walks in Beauty Like the Night
by Mangykneazle
Summary: The art of concealment can be painful, but what seems most unlikely can often bring the greatest pleasure.


**A/N: **This short was written for a Valentine's Day challenge, the theme being offbeat or otherwise unexpected romances. I hope you enjoy. (And for those of you who read _There and Back Again Lane_, I'm working on the next chapter, honestly.)**

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**She Walks in Beauty Like the Night**

It was odd he should feel this way about her. She was such a nasty and vindictive person, always snickering at his friends with that supercilious air, her small nose wrinkling in disgust as she walked past them. And yet...

What was it that brought her so frequently to his mind? Was it how she laughed when she was truly amused, not that high-pitched nasal tone she emitted just then, giggling at another uninspired insult or diatribe from his blond witlessness. No, it was the looks she gave him in Potions.

At first, Neville Longbottom thought Pansy Parkinson scorned him. As time passed and the looks came his way more often, he surmised it must have been pity. Such a sentiment from a Slytherin seemed completely implausible, however. Then it happened in their fifth year. Malfoy and his two pet trolls were busy trying to get a rise out of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the two threesomes challenging each other on the stairs up from the dungeons. Snape had kept Neville after the lesson to administer another tongue lashing. The young man had just emerged from the classroom when the argy bargy up the steps began in earnest. A calming female hand stayed Neville's advance, though, one belonging to a most unlikely sort.

He tried to shake off her unwelcome touch and tell her off, but her gentle fingers on his lips stilled both impulses. Like a lamb, albeit a wary one, he let himself be led away through alternative passages. It was odd how comfortably his hand felt in hers, as if it had never been elsewhere before. She took to giving him shy sidelong glances with flitting smiles that strangely reached her eyes. When they first came, he could only respond with a furrowed brow. Then he started returning grins of his own. Soon the glances became gazes and directions were forgotten. Yet the Gryffindor was still suspicious.

'Why?' Neville finally asked outside of a deserted classroom.

Pansy turned to face him, a blush spreading on her cheeks. Her words were lost once she saw his inquisitive stare. A gentle squeeze of the hand and a nervous smile from him recovered her speech. 'I- I never understood why you were so nervous,' she stammered, 'until I overheard Draco tell his two cronies what his aunt did to your family last year.' Neville blanched, frowned, and began to walk away. Pansy, however, wouldn't let go.

'That _Potter_,' she spat, 'gets so much attention and sympathy just because his parents died.' Neville marvelled at her neglect of You-Know-Who's defeat. Seeing the look on his face and guessing the cause, she reversed. 'OK, there's the bit about defeating the Dark Lord that makes him a little interesting.'

'You sent that Valentine's to him in our second year, didn't you?' Neville enquired with a brief chuckle. Pansy's girning in annoyance was the only confirmation he needed, but she continued none the less.

'It was a brief phase, never to be repeated, especially after he saved that Weasley girl,' she chuntered. He bristled at the comment. After all, Ginny was a nice girl, even though she tended to fall for gits and Harry (sometimes the same thing, really). Besides, he wasn't entirely convinced by Pansy's argument despite the hint of jealousy in her voice. Maybe she had a fetish for Gryffindors or perhaps it was just hard luck cases. Unaware he'd spoken such concerns aloud, her reply astonished him. 'It's not that,' she averred. 'I truly believe there's a certain something within you that makes you better than Draco, and that Potter git.' She cradled his face in her hands. 'You actually care about people.' Her body felt so close to his. He could sense the need radiating from her body, though perhaps it was the desire emanating from his. A sly smirk formed on her lips. 'And unlike them you can ask a girl out.'

Smiling at her flattery, he still couldn't trust what he was hearing. 'Are you trying to tell me something, Miss Parkinson?' he queried incredulously. 'Am I to believe you're seeking an invitation?'

Worry creased Pansy's face. Her hands dropped from his face and the corners of her lips retreated as her smile receded. 'Erm... yes?' she answered in a very small voice. One of his fingers tentatively traced her jaw. He frowned in concentration as he observed its progress to her downcast and wobbling chin. Gentle pressure from underneath raised her head so they gazed once more into one another's eyes. Cautiously, they advanced into each other's arms, embraced. Snogged. With trepidation at first, but then with youthful ardour. Only after they had fallen through the door of the deserted classroom and into an undignified and compromising heap onto its dusty floor did they remember about such silly things as lunch and academic lessons.

Though they were young and ignorant of old tales involving teenagers from opposing Houses, neither were fools. They knew their newfound affection could not be revealed publicly, at least not in the current environment. The Slytherins would devour Pansy and likely shorten Neville's life as well. Not that any of the Gryffindor boys or even Hermione or Ginny would understand his relationship with Pansy either. They would suspect the Slytherin girl of some underhanded scheme. He had to admit to himself that some reluctance remained in him for much the same reason.

Yet their surreptitious meetings continued and neither asked more of the other than what was in their hearts, and their schoolwork, of course. When together they behaved like a normal couple, and when separated they acted as they had before, with slow simmering hostility that made those times together even more fervent and sought after.

And here they were, in the Great Hall, tables separating them, the both of them rolling their eyes across the distance at Malfoy's daft conceit as he told one of his ridiculous lies. Resting her elbow on the table and her head in her hand, Pansy imitated Malfoy's inane yammering with her thumb and index finger unseen by her fellow sixth year prefect.

It would be another long, dreadful year filled with mishaps and misunderstandings, but at least Neville and Pansy would have one another.


End file.
